Oh, Gwymplane—the last thing she said—was so like—so like——
Duchess
Maybe it is a stanza that he says to all of us. Poets are peculiar creatures—they have their lines by heart and insist upon repeating them, even at the wrong moment.
Dea [staggers]
Gwymplane, my love—for you are my love—I am terribly hurt somewhere—Let us go.
Gwymplane
[Supporting Dea and turning to the Duchess.]
You did not have your pleasure, I know, and——
Duchess [pointing imperiously]
Go, clown. I can add the situation up myself. No, I think I want another word with you.